


The Other Side

by glitteratiglue



Series: Bridges [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve steps along the road to healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> ** Trigger warning ** Stillbirth, baby loss - a little graphic in places so proceed with caution if it's a sensitive thing for you.
> 
> With that in mind, I've tried to deal with it as sensitively and realistically as possible.
> 
> Post- _Nemesis_.

**1.**

Deanna has always trusted her instincts.

She _knows_ the minute that it happens, the very second that the small; half-formed mind that’s mingled with her own for months fades away into nothing. The scan only confirms what she knew, and she sits silent and unmoving, gripping Will’s fingers while Dr Alyssa Ogawa explains gently that there were no medical reasons for it; their unborn daughter had simply died.

The induced labour is painful and protracted - she wasn’t expecting the ease of Ian’s birth, but it’s doubly hard to face it like this - and at the end, a silent, perfect little girl is wrapped in a blanket and laid in her arms. Will reaches out to touch the still, tiny hand, his fingers trembling.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, swallowing hard, and lets go; it's too hard not to.

Deanna cries, and Will shoves a fist against his mouth in the effort not to fall apart around his subordinates. She lies numb, holds his hand when they take her baby from her and stitch her up with technology that won’t leave a mark. Like it never happened at all.

She goes over and over it in her mind, thinking about whether she ought to have stopped mok’bara, reduced her patient load a little sooner. Will wonders if he should have sent her on that away mission last month, if the stress was something to do with it.

 

**2.**

A pile of decorations are hastily balled up in a corner when he stops by the bridge, having left Deanna asleep in sickbay. There’s nothing happening that requires his attention; stellar cartography are glad of the time to analyse their findings from _Titan’s_ recent deep space mission to the Orion Nebula. The scheduling was deliberate, to allow him and Deanna time to spend with their new arrival, and it’s another blow.

Will smiles tightly, makes a brief round of the stations and pretends not to notice that not a single one of his officers can look him in the eye. 

 

**3.**

All the baby things are gone from their quarters upon her discharge from sickbay; she's glad of that. She doesn’t want to ask where he put the cot.

 

**4.**

She jolts awake in a shock of fever and agony, feeling her milk let down: the cruellest reminder of what’s been taken from her. Will panics at first, keeps muttering _“oh God”_ while twin stains appear on the front of her t-shirt, like he can’t quite believe it’s happened.

Recovering himself quickly, he leads her to the bathroom and gently pulls the sodden fabric over her head; being as careful as he can when she winces. Tries not to recoil at the sight of her breasts, red-streaked and heavy and leaking - it’s not that he’s disgusted by them, it just looks _so_ painful - and it’s almost more than he can bear to see her,  _feel_  her hurting like this.

Will manages to get a grip on himself. He takes a painkilling hypospray from a drawer, presses it to her neck with shaking hands; sorts out breast pads and ice packs and a clean t-shirt and helps her back into bed.

“It was supposed to be for her,” Deanna says, between tears of grief and pain and exhaustion.

He gives her a clumsy sideways hug - afraid he’ll hurt her - and whispers, “I know, I know," while she cries softly in the darkness.

A few more times that night, he gets up for ice packs, cool cloths for her feverish forehead and cold water that she gulps down gratefully.

It helps to feel useful – not much, but a little.

 

**5.**

In those first days, getting through each hour is a small victory. Deanna marks time with each pair of replicated ice packs she slips inside the painfully tight bra Alyssa recommended; it takes about an hour for her elevated Betazoid body temperature to render their cold comfort void.

There are regular hyposprays for the pain, and comforting words and touches from an increasingly exhausted Will; these things keep her from losing herself entirely. It's sad, she thinks: he must have thought he’d be tired right now for an entirely different reason.

He’s trying hard not to let his own grief intrude upon hers, but their empathic bond often makes it harder  _not_ to share things. She catches flashes of it: his anger that this is happening to them, coupled with the feeling that it has to be so much worse for her, because it’s physical and she felt their baby grow inside her, and _how can she bear this?_

Will pulls her up in bed with his easy strength, puts a fork in her hand. “Come on. You’ve got to eat something, Deanna. It’s the funeral" - his voice catches on that word - "this afternoon.” He knew the Ktarian chocolate puff would tempt her, and she manages to eat half of it: another small victory.

Deanna touches the soft swell of her stomach and thinks about how it doesn't feel much different. She remembers Will’s smile of wonder, his hands splayed out across her growing belly while their daughter moved inside her.

 

**6.**

“I can’t make it stop,” she tells Alyssa in tears a week later, at her scheduled check-up. Everything is healing as it should be, but Deanna dismisses that news. She's only concerned with the painful fullness of her breasts that are still leaking milk; it's another betrayal when her body has already let her down.

The doctor squeezes her hand sympathetically. “It can take a while, Deanna. You’re doing everything you should be. But I may have something that can help.”

Alyssa examines the replicator, requests a compound that Deanna has never heard of.

“Sage tea,” Alyssa says, holding out a cup of something dark and earthy that makes Deanna wrinkle her nose. “It’s an old Earth remedy that Beverly told me about when we worked together. I’ll leave the pattern on file in your replicator.”

Her milk stops three days after she starts drinking it. She doesn’t miss the pain, but it’s another loss, just the same.

 

**7.**

There are well-meaning subspace messages from their friends: Worf and Geordi and Beverly and Captain Picard and too many more to think about. She can’t bear to listen to them so Will does, and sends brief replies. He is kind when she needs him to be, makes her laugh with stupid anecdotes or his still-awful trombone playing when she needs to laugh, and tempts her with an array of carefully-calibrated desserts from the replicator on those days she doesn’t feel like eating.

More than once or twice, she wakes in the night to the quiet sound of him crying in their bathroom. It’s not something he wants to burden her with, and if he has to cope in his own way, she’ll let him. At least for now: she so badly needs him to hold her together while this is tearing her apart from the inside out.

 

**8.**

"Oh, Deanna, I am so, so sorry." Her mother's voice is stricken even over the distant subspace connection.

Will had been thoughtfully fielding Lwaxana's calls for a while, since they explained why her scheduled visit to see the baby wouldn't happen after all: he knew Deanna hadn't felt up to dealing with her right away.

"These negotiations on Talon are at a crucial stage," Lwaxana continues, "but I can absolutely leave if you need me to. Will assures me he's taking good care of you. Is he? Because if he isn't, I'll be on the first -"

"Really, mother," Deanna interjects, "it's fine. Nobody could be taking better care of me than Will."

He is out of camera range, fiddling with the replicator to make something for dinner, but she sees his soft smile at the compliment.

_Well, you have._

_Always, imzadi._

"You're not fine at all, darling." Her mother sighs.

"No. But I will be."

She doesn't quite believe it.

 

**9.**

The burdens of command being what they are, Will can’t be with her every minute after the first couple of weeks. Her body heals, feels more like her own. She counts the hours with hot drinks and stacks of escapist Betazoid romances and old Earth Westerns on PADDs. There are work-related PADDs, too, but she can’t look at them yet.

Will burns the candle at both ends, tries to be everything for her and for his crew; every day he gets tenser and the dark circles under his eyes deepen.

One night when he’s exhausted and she’s keeping them both awake tossing and turning - wracked by the emptiness in her thoughts where their baby’s mind used to be - she makes a decision.

He isn’t keen, but Deanna gently lays a hand on his arm, reminds him, “The _Enterprise_ is on a diplomatic mission, in a system five days from here at warp six. Beverly said if we needed _anything_ , she’d be there. I’ll ask her to come and stay.”

Will nods. The relief pouring off him would be obvious even to a non-empath; it stings a little, to think that he’s looking forward to getting rid of her for a bit.

She can’t exactly blame him.

 

**10.  
**

Beverly arrives, and Will finally feels like he can take a minute to breathe, to pay some much-needed attention to his ship and crew. He goes straight to main engineering and listens to the soothing hum of the warp core, feeling it in his bones, because this is _his_ ship; he’s missed her and he needs to feel useful again. He listens to reports, crawls into Jefferies tubes, inspects plasma conduits, and once or twice, allows himself to laugh at a joke. It's a welcome escape.

In their quarters, Deanna pulls her old friend into a hug, draws back to appraise her. Beverly looks better than ever - her auburn hair is shot through with caramel streaks that catch the light - but there’s a quiet sadness in her eyes as she reaches for her hand.

“How are you?” It’s asked softly, in a tone so sympathetic that Deanna falls apart immediately, bawling as the white hot agony throbbing beneath her skin pours out of her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Beverly says, rocking her gently, “and I’ll stay for as long as you need me. Jean-Luc will understand.”

Beverly is kind but not _too_ kind: she bustles around efficiently, tidying up their quarters while Deanna falls asleep on the couch. She wakes to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

“You’re going to have a bath,” her friend says briskly, helping her into a sitting position, “and I’m going to see if I can teach your replicator how to make my grandmother’s vegetable soup.”

After they’ve eaten and she’s settled Deanna back into bed, Beverly takes some to Will in his ready room and stands over him until he’s eaten every bite. He protests at being coddled, but they’ve known each long enough to know why she’s really here.

“I need you to look after yourself,” she says seriously, giving him a warm hug. He almost cries, because it’s nice to have someone take care of him for a change: it’s hard to be everything Deanna needs him to be when he’s on the verge of cracking.

He loves her so much and everything is so unfair and it hurts, hurts, _hurts_ so badly he can’t even say it.

There’s no almost about it anymore: angry, bitter tears are spilling from his eyes and Beverly is holding him tight, obligingly letting him dampen the shoulder of her uniform. He can’t find the words to thank her, but he knows he doesn’t have to when she ruffles his hair and leaves the ready room without a word.

Beverly stays for another week; neither Deanna or Will can admit how much they needed her, but she knows it without them saying a word. It's reward enough for her  to imagine that she's played even a small part in helping her close friends through this awful tragedy.

 

**11.**

Deanna runs her fingers over the potted Ktarian emerald grass on her office windowsill, finding something pleasantly grounding in the irregular bumps on its surface. She straightens her uniform top, her collar with its three pips that’s always felt so comfortable; a second skin that fits like her rank. There's always some anxiety when she returns to her job after a break; to feel that familiar knot in her stomach is almost like a visit from an old friend.

Her counselling staff couldn’t have been better, and have taken an increased patient load these past weeks without complaint, but she feels it’s the right time. That said, she dreads having to examine her own knotted feelings in supervision – but it’s the way things work in her profession and might even do her some good in the long run.                                                                                                                          

The door buzzes: her first appointment. “Come in.”

 

**12.**

It’s been two months and they’re sitting by the shores of Lake Cataria - one of her favourite holodeck programs - when Deanna says the words: “I want to talk about her.”

“Tasha,” he says softly: it’s the first time either of them have been able to bring themselves to mention the name. There’s a terrible irony in the fact that they named her for their fallen friend.

“Maybe she’s keeping her company,” Deanna says, sensing his thoughts; there's the vaguest hint of a smile on her lips. He kisses the top of her head; imagines Tasha Yar standing guard over their daughter with her phaser and don't-mess-with-me smile, and it makes him smile, too.

“I like that,” he tells her. They know it’s silly, really; but there's a strange comfort for them both in this shared image.

Taking his hand, settling back on the soft grass, she asks, “You didn’t get rid of everything, did you?”

Will shakes his head. “It’s in a storage area on deck nineteen.”

Twining his fingers in hers, she leans in and kisses him gently, thanking him silently.

"We can go and look, if you want,” he offers, knowing she can feel the uncertainty churning beneath his words.

“Not yet. But I like to know it’s there.” She tilts her face towards the holographic sunshine and he puts an arm around her.

It's something, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> It was very, very difficult for me to write this, but the idea wouldn't let go of me until I'd got it down.
> 
> I had a headcanon that Alyssa Ogawa had maybe gone to do some further training and ended up being a doctor after all, so I worked that in.


End file.
